by Naomi Niles
REVVED
By Naomi Niles
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Naomi Niles
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Chapter One
Darren
On Monday morning, I awoke to a couple new text messages. One was from my friend Dickie wanting to know when I would be coming into work. The other was from my girlfriend.
Would you mind taking the day off? I need you here this morning.
To which I wrote back:
Carlotta, you know I have to work. We’ve been through this before. If you wanted to hang out you should’ve texted me this weekend.
In a face-to-face conversation, this would have been the point where Robin shrieked and started throwing things, which is why I probably would never have said those things to her face. Lately, I had been texting her more and more and seeing her less and less.
If you don’t wanna hang out with me, she replied, then you can just say so.
It’s not that I don’t want to hang out with you. I’ve just got a lot on my plate right now. The only reason I even got this job was because you insisted on it.
To which she responded:
If I had known it was going to take you away from me I would never have done it. Some days I just need you here to hold my hand. But lately you’re too busy even to do that.
And I responded:
Fine. The next time we’re together, I promise I’ll hold your hand.
And Carlotta said, Sweetie, that’s not the *point*.
What *is* your point?
I just want you. I thought you wanted me but I guess I was mistaken.
Babe, I do want you but I also gotta work. You wouldn’t respect me if I quit my job to hang out with you all the time. That would be like Han Solo quitting the rebellion to go hang out with Leia.
… boy, you know I hate those movies.
I don’t care.
I waited a few minutes to see if she’d respond, but she never did. I was only just climbing out of bed and preparing to jump in the shower when Dickie called.
“Hey, where are you?”
“Yeah, sorry I’m late. I just got into a tiff with my girlfriend.”
“What, again? That’s the second one this week.”
I shook my head even thought I knew he couldn’t see me and said, “I know; things have been a bit rough lately. I’ll make it up to you by working late tonight.”
Dickie laughed. “It doesn’t matter to me when you come in as long as we get this car fixed before the race on Saturday. Right now, that’s our first priority. But hey, I was wondering if you would run by the kolache store and grab a box of donuts on your way here.”
“Sure thing. Any particular kind?”
“I’m really craving some of the powdered ones with the little sprinkles. And you can get whatever you want for yourself.”
“Alright, man. See you in a bit.” He hung up.
Outside the house, it was one of those early spring mornings that restores your faith in the goodness of the world. Daisies and dandelions clustered in circles at the edge of the yard, stirred by a cold breeze. In the rows and rows of evergreens that lined the road leading out of the suburb, I could hear the incessant chitter of cardinals and robins. I lived on the north edge of Dallas, just far enough away from the city that it wasn’t unusual to see a fox digging through your trash or a couple raccoons peeking out at you from behind an azalea shrub.
Despite my insistence to Carlotta that I had to work that day, I almost wished I could take the day off and visit my parents’ home to see the calves calving and the mares foaling. They lived on a farm in a small town about thirty miles outside of Dallas, and ever since I moved out, I went over to see them about once a week. Mama had been pushing me to move out on my own for a while, but when I finally did, she was so upset she named one of the foals after me.
When I finally reached the rundown old shop where I worked five days out of the week, I found Dickie lying on his back on the concrete underneath a red Mustang. The air smelled of gasoline and exhaust, and my heart warmed to the persistent clank of metal against metal.
I set the box of donuts down on the ground at his side. “We about ready for the race this weekend?”
“Just about; we’re only missing a spark plug. I may have to run by the store later and get it.” He wore a blue uniform covered in oil, and his hair and beard had a black tint as though they had been doused in kerosene and never washed. “Is Carlotta coming?”
“Shoot, I don’t know. We’ve had so many fights lately, it’s hard to say where we’ll be by the end of the week. She’s moody and unpredictable and—what’s the word?—volatile.”
Dickie shook his head. “I hear that.”
“Last night she threw a whole plate of tacos at me. Ten minutes later, she wanted to cuddle. I can never figure her out.”
“Have you thought about putting her on medication? It sounds like she might benefit from modern medicine.”
“She would, but I know she would never go for it. The one time I brought it up, she stormed out of the room as if I had insulted her. She hates being told she isn’t perfect just the way she is, which makes it hard for her to change.”
“That’s the most frustrating kind of person to be around,” said Dickie, “because they get angry if you’re not constantly affirming them.”
“She doesn’t need to be told how great she is. She needs to have been spanked ten years ago.”
Dickie opened the box and rummaged through until he found one of the powdered donuts. “I guess that’s one thing you and I can be proud of. We’re not great people; we both know that. But we’re willing to be corrected, and we’re willing to change. You’d be surprised how rare that is.”
“I don’t see how you can get anywhere in this world without it. My parents raised me to listen and to know when I was in the wrong. They’d be furious if I never learned how to accept advice when I needed it. Carlotta’s dad just coddled her.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t help that she grew up without a mom.”
“No, I sometimes try to imagine how different Carlotta would have been if her mom hadn’t walked out on her. Shit, she probably wouldn’t be dating me.”
“But she’d be a better person, maybe,” said Dickie.
Just then, I heard the squeal of tires on gravel and the slam of a car door. Peeking around behind the Mustang, I saw, to my horror, that Carlotta had pulled into the drive.
She was wearing a pair of dark designer sunglasses, a low-cut orange blouse tied in a knot at the top, and form-hugging capri pants that accentuated her voluptuous figure. Having been born in Venezuela, she had a natural tan and a thick head of straight black hair that had more than once gotten her mistaken for a Kardashian. Boys were constantly hitting on her, and it put me in the odd position of feeling fiercely protective of her even on the nights when I wished we had never met.
She paused in front of the Mustang and threw her purse down. “So is this what you do all day? Just talk?”
Dickie made a face that only I could see and slowly wheeled himself back under the car.
“Hey, what’s up?” I placed a hand over my face to shield it from the bright sunlight. “You could’ve at least texted me to let me know you were coming over.”
“Why
, so you would know to look busy? I’ve got better things to do with my time than to text you all day.”
“Like coming over here and harassing me at work?”
If Dickie hadn’t been there, this would have been the comment that set her off. As it was, she began pacing the garage as though looking for something to throw. “I don’t know why I bother with you, Darren. I’m done; I’m so done!”
“You keep saying that, yet you keep coming back.”
“Quit confusing me! You always say these things that make sense to you, but they don’t make sense to me.”
“Like pointing out when you’re inconsistent?”
“See, like that. What does that even mean? Why you gotta act like you’re so smart? You’re not as smart as you think you are.”
“If I was smart, I would have broken up with you a long time ago,” I muttered under my breath.
“What did you say? Quit saying things where I can’t hear them! It isn’t fair!” She swung at a car jack with her high heels but only succeeded in stubbing her toe. Wincing in pain, she added, “Do you and your friend just sit around and make fun of me all day?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Y’all need to stop; it’s not fair. I wish you would actually work so I could have some food on my table.”
“Babe, I get paid the same amount whether I’m sitting here or over there up at the counter. And if you want to eat that badly, you should go out and get yourself a job. It’s not my job to provide for you.”
“It would be if you were my husband.”
“Well, I’m not, so unless and until that day comes, you can go sweat for your own bread.”
Apparently, this wasn’t the response she wanted. Balling her hands up into fists she said, “Ugh! What is your problem? Why can’t you just talk to me like a normal guy instead of making all these smart quips? I’m so done with you.” She turned and stormed off.
Dickie rolled back out from beneath the car and grimaced.
“She’ll be back,” I said. “How’s the car looking?”
“Still need that spark plug.”
“I’ll run by there tomorrow.” Behind us, in the parking lot, Carlotta was struggling to get the door of her car open. She had given up in frustration, and now she was just kicking it over and over. “That way if she comes by again, you can tell her I’m not here.”
“Why don’t you just break up with her?”
“Because she’s just too damned hot.”
Dickie shook his head and returned to the car.
Chapter Two
Penny
I had stayed out late at a party the night before. I hadn’t wanted to go, but my best friend, Nicole Clare, had dragged me. “You have to get out sometimes!” she exclaimed. “You’ve gotta have some fun in your life.”
“But I have plenty of fun already,” I insisted. I liked being home at night with my fingers twined around a cup of hot cocoa, wearing a pair of comfy shorts, and working on one of my books. Parties weren’t really my thing. I’d gone to a couple back in high school but felt simultaneously bored and out of place. At one point, a boy had even tried hitting on me, but he was so drunk I could have been his brother and he wouldn’t have noticed. Eventually, I had gotten a tummy ache and ducked out.
Looking back, I probably shouldn’t have let Nicole talk me into the party last night, but I worried about her because she partied so much and seemed to go home with a different boy every night. In the end, I agreed to go, but only for her sake. We both knew girls who had blacked out at parties after accepting drinks from strangers and had woken up in a strange bed. I didn’t want her to be that girl, but she took a lot of risks and didn’t always play it safe.
The house belonged to one of Nic’s co-workers. It was a lake house with a second-story patio looking out over the moonlit Texas woods. We slipped in through the front door unseen by anyone. A pair of speakers on tripods were playing “Time to Pretend” so loudly that the room vibrated. Despite this, a woman sat at the piano in the corner of the room banging out an old rag-time tune. The effect was jarring, but nobody seemed to care or notice. A crowd of about twenty people swayed and danced lazily in the center of the room.
I ended up in a conversation with a sharply dressed guy named Andrew wearing a Western shirt with pearl snaps and a thick pair of glasses. He had the look of a man who played the banjo in a local indie folk band.
“We’ll start out with the boring questions,” he said, holding a red cup in one hand. “What do you do?”
“For a living or for fun?”
“Both, I guess.”
“Well, I work part-time at my dad’s auto parts store, and sometimes I babysit for families who live in the neighborhood. Not the most prestigious work, I know. I’m hoping to go back to college once I’ve saved up enough money.”
“Hey, nothing wrong with that,” said Andrew.
“I work really hard.”
“What do you to unwind?”
“Well…” I wasn’t used to getting this much attention, and I brushed a strand of hair out of my face shyly. “I like to write books. I like to play board games with my best friend—”
“Whoa, stop there.” Andrew held up one hand as though to call a timeout. “What sort of books do you write?”
This was one of those scary questions that I didn’t like to answer. “Mostly novels,” I said loudly, for someone had turned up the stereo. “I write stories about women trapped in hard situations, who don’t know if they’re ever going to make it.”
“Really? That’s awesome!”
“Thanks…” I could feel myself blushing.
“Any chance I can read one?”
“Maybe someday.” I shrugged and laughed; I’m not even sure why. I was scared he might ask whether they were published on Kindle because I didn’t want him to go and look them up.
“So what else do you do for fun? Do you just write all the time?”
“No…” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Nic tugging on a guy’s tie, smiling seductively. She obviously had him wrapped around her finger; he kept grinning in this embarrassed but also cocksure kind of way, and I knew it was only a matter of time before they either found a back room or left together. “Sorry, I… what was the question?”
“I had asked if you had any hobbies.”
“Oh yeah! Hobbies. Well, I like to cuddle with my stuffed animals, and sometimes I have dance parties alone in my room, and I take care of my dad who is sick.”
“What is he sick with?”
“I, uh…” I laughed in an embarrassed kind of way and tapped him lightly on the chest with my fist. “Why am I hogging all the questions? You should ask me something. Wait…”
Andrew smiled in surprise. “Are you drunk? I literally haven’t seen you once with a drink in your hand.”
“I don’t drink unless I’m forced to. Be right back, I’m gonna go talk to my sister—well, friend, but she’s like a sister. Hold my beer.”
“You’re not even holding a beer!” Andrew pointed out.
“I know, it’s just an expression.” I darted off to find Nic.
But Nicole was already striding toward me, pulling her guy along by the tie like a dog on a leash. “I think Jim and I are gonna get going. You can find your own way home, right?”
“That’s why I brought my own car. Are either of you sober enough to drive? How are you getting home?”
Nic pinched my cheeks, which was only slightly humiliating. I could feel them burning with shame. “Penny, you don’t have to be my mother; I can take care of myself.”
“I know, I just worry about you.”
“I know you do.” She walked past me out the door, dragging Jim behind her. He handed me his beer cup as he passed, perhaps not wanting to be caught driving with it. I stood there for a moment studying the amber liquid, trying to decide whether I should drink it and wishing I could have stopped her from going.
While I was standing there mired in hesitation, Andrew c
ame striding over. I cringed inwardly; his constant questions were exasperating even when I wasn’t worried about my best friend.
“You okay?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I’ll be alright, I guess. You ever have one of those moments where you see someone heading down a dangerous road, and you want to intervene and save them, but you don’t know how?”
“Is this for a book you’re writing or did this really happen?”
I leaned back against the linoleum countertop and undid my ponytail. Waves of dark-blonde hair fell into my face. “Little of both, I guess,” I said as I put it back up. “Sometimes real life blends into my stories and vice versa. Sometimes it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.”
“Dang, what’s your favorite thing you’ve written?”
Ah, now we were getting into the “favorites” questions. This was always my cue to leave. “Listen, I think I’d better be heading home. I want to be there for Nic whenever she gets in.”
“You sure? Can I walk you to your car?”
“Nah, I’ll be fine. This is a pretty secluded lake house, and it looks like the party is dying down anyway.” In the living room, a couple girls were singing “You May Be Right” on karaoke, and a single guy waved his cell phone in front of them half-heartedly. “It’s gotten to the time of night when things are just sad.”
“Well, if you’re ever around, I’d love to talk sometime.”
“Sure, sure,” I replied, not knowing what else to say. Grabbing my keys off the counter, I noticed the red cup still sitting there. “Hey, would you like to have the rest of my beer?”
***
I stayed up half the night waiting for Nic to come home, but she never did. I fell asleep on my tummy with all my clothes on and was awoken the next morning by a loud knocking.
“Penny? Are you in there?” It was Nic.
“Unh,” I muttered, rolling over onto my side.
“I know you didn’t stay out all night. Come into the kitchen; I made you breakfast.”
That was enough to get me out of bed. I changed into a pair of gray running shorts and a t-shirt I won in the eighth grade for competing in the school spelling bee. I brushed my teeth and was still putting on my makeup when Nic knocked on the door again.
